Statistics
by bookish-type-7
Summary: The unthinkable happens. Percabeth one-shot.


"Yes, Luke, dear, please brush your teeth before Daddy comes home," she shouted to the next room, looking up from her book, waiting for a reply.

"Okay, Mommy," a yell sounded, and she went back to reading; somewhat convinced he'd actually heard her. Five-year olds. She sighed. The probability of him actually brushing his teeth without her watching over him was about zero to ten, and she got up, placing her book on the table, face down.

Walking down the hall and turning the corner into Luke's room, she peeked into the door, and, seeing scruffy dark hair poking up above the covers of his bed, she smiled.

"Wonder where he could be," she said loudly, meandering around the room, hearing giggles from the bed. "Hmmm…"

Annabeth whipped around quickly, dashing to the bed and throwing back the covers (hey, he never made his bed anyway), revealing a laughing Luke, in his tiny dinosaur pajamas. "Found you!" she said, grinning, reaching for his ribs and tickling until he collapsed into giggles again, rolling around the bed.

"Mommy!" Luke gasped in between giggles, and finally, "I'll go brush my teeth!"

She finally stopped, following him as he ran to the bathroom with furtive glances behind him. _It's great to finally install some fear into your kid_, she thought, watching as he put toothpaste on his Iron Man toothbrush, running it under the water and brushing his teeth. Annabeth smiled, glad he was finally getting the hang of this whole "hygiene" thing.

And when he'd sung "Happy Birthday" six times (each twenty seconds long, adding to two minutes), he rinsed and she ruffled his hair. "Finally time for bed?" she asked.

He yawned. "Yeah, Mommy. Can you read me a bedtime story?"

The pair traipsed back to his bedroom, and she picked up _The Paperbag Princess_ (she'd been convinced he would learn of strong female characters by the age of, well, _now_) and he curled into bed, his grey eyes blinking closed as she read the first line.

"There was a princess named Elizabeth who was going to marry a prince named Ronald…"

* * *

Satisfied Luke was asleep, she shut the book quietly, kissed his forehead, and tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door with a click. Annabeth walked back into the living room and curled back under a fleece blanket, settling down with a book until Percy came home.

* * *

The fumbling with the lock woke her with a start, and she sat up quickly, sending the book that had fallen onto her chest tumbling to the floor. Dizzy with sleep, she tiredly stumbled to the door, unlocking and opening it to find Percy standing outside, key in his hand, looking slightly frustrated. But with one look at her, sweatpants and t-shirt, hair in a messy bun, eyes still clouded with sleep, his face softened. "Annabeth, were you sleeping? I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's… it's okay," she yawned. "How was the ER? I'm sorry I couldn't go with you, Luke was a complete mess tonight…"

He coughed, walking into the apartment and closing and locking the door behind him. "They told me I have pneumonia, actually."

"Oh, Percy, I'm sorry." She kissed him on the cheek and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "How long do you think it'll take to get better? I know you got lucky the last time, it was only a few days."

He sighed, his breath rattling. "Uhm… not quite sure. But they did some, um, screenings for other stuff since I've gotten it a few times, you know? Because blocked airways leads to pneumonia, and sometimes that comes from lung cancer."

Annabeth's eyebrows shot up, and she unwrapped her arms from around him, staring at him. "But… that's not what you have, right?"

He closed his eyes, breathing heavy. "Actually… they looked at the X-rays." Annabeth's eyes widened. "It's not looking good, but they're going to call me in the morning and-"

"Oh my gods, Percy," she said, gasping for air as it seemed like their apartment crumbled down around them. "No… this can't be happening…"

She reached out for him, clutching at his jacket, too shocked to cry, just hearing all the repeated statistics of cancer swirl around in her head. _15% survive for five years after diagnosis. _

He wrapped his arms around her as she held him tightly, not wanting to let go, breathing in his smell and holding back tears as his breath rattled above her. She trembled underneath his touch, repressing her sobs as their son slept quietly in the next room.

* * *

thanks for reading, dears! reviews fuel my life source c;


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